


winter giving way to warm

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, CLICHES OUT THE WAZOO, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is not that Ariadne is falling for her hot math tutor. The problem is that he's running for student government, and it's all a giant farce. A loving homage to 90s teen movies; or, another damn high school AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winter giving way to warm

The problem is not, as Ariadne painstakingly explains to Yusuf, that she likes Arthur.

Arthur barely knows her, anyway.

(The problem is definitely not that he's the only person in their school who shows up wearing ties on a regular basis and doesn't get shit for it, who is taking all honors and AP classes and also running three events in track and set to win every high jump between now and States, and has a job doing something undoubtedly very advanced and impressive, and is also tutoring her in math.)

(And he barely knows her.)

The problem is that student government is a giant crock of shit.

"It's all just another pageant designed to get us to conform. To grow up into happy little automatons. Another popularity contest."

Yusuf is hard to see in the dim red light of the darkroom, as they wait for the developer to work its magic, but Ariadne thinks he's smiling through that stupid beard of his. (He hasn't shaved since he was thirteen. He's the only student with a full beard. This is how he manages to buy beer for all the parties.) "Is this like your thing about homecoming?"

"No." She scowls. "It's my thing about how stupid politics is in this country. Are. It doesn't change once you get older and start voting for real. They make promises they can't keep and they use their power for evil."

"And you think your hot math tutor is going to abuse his position?"

"If we weren't in the darkroom I would kick your ass." Instead, Ariadne lifts the photo out of the tray of developer and hangs it up to dry. An inverted reflection of the grand staircase in the building downtown that used to be a cinema. It's going to be turned into an Abercrombie and Fitch or something similarly heinous, so she broke in and took several rolls' worth of pictures.

"Of course you would, kitten. Pass me a clothespin." Yusuf's on a textural kick, finding patterns and beauty in flaking paint and crumpled fabric. Ariadne thinks this is a bit much, but she's not going to criticize one of her only friends. Not in the darkroom, anyway. It can wait for the review session. "Besides, he's probably just looking for another line on his college application. Can't blame him for that, can you?"

"That's almost as bad," Ariadne objects. "There's no way you can legitimize this."

"Good vocabulary word," Yusuf says, and Ariadne gives up and storms out. She's going to be late for her tutoring session anyway.

It's heinously embarrassing that she even needs a tutor in the first place. But her old hippie private school was eclectic, letting them study subjects at their own pace, and Ariadne had taken an advanced curriculum before she aged out and was thrust upon the tender mercies of the public education system. Summers spent in classrooms instead of at some godforsaken camp in the woods. Now she's taking two art classes, advanced French (and _not_ Latin, sorry, Mom) and math.

Precalculus, to be exact.

Which, apparently, she is entirely too stupid to understand.

"It's not that I'm bad at math," she says, feeling helpless, like her brain is mired in sludge. She did just fine before, after all. But she was better at geometry than algebra, merely passable in trigonometry, and apparently precalc is just entirely beyond her.

"I don't think you're bad at math," Arthur says, calm. And not even a little bit condescending as they sit in the back of the library, voices hushed. "You wouldn't be in precalc as a freshman if you were."

"Failing precalc," she reminds him. His lips quirk for a moment, but then it's gone.

"We'll see about that," he says, and pulls out the textbook. And he does his best to help her slog through this week's problem set, and she definitely doesn't notice the bones of his wrists or his long fingers as he flips through the pages and draws out functions, and she doesn't think about how he smells like soap and grass instead of hideously disgusting body spray.

When they leave the library, Arthur offers her a ride in his beat-up but lovingly restored car like always. Ariadne shakes her head and unlocks her bike from the rack.

"Race you," he offers, and she can't help smiling.

"On foot or in your car?"

"I think I could keep up with you." It's probably just her imagination that he looks at her legs when she straddles the bike and tucks her skirt under her. But he meets her eyes and grins. "It'd be good practice for me."

"I'm not your helper monkey," she blurts out, and for a second she thinks that that was too far over the line between charmingly sarcastic and really rude, but then he laughs. With her, not at her. She hopes.

"Maybe some other time. See you next Thursday," he says easily, still smiling. How has she never noticed his dimples before? So she gives him a wave and a small smile and pedals away, books thumping against her back, heart thumping in her chest. She only realizes when she's halfway home that she forgot to ask him how he could possibly want to waste his time on something like student government. And the next day at school she doesn't see him, and over the weekend she's busy working on her next project and a huge French translation that her dad won't help her with even though he reads articles in French all the time, and she sort of forgets about it until Monday morning when the halls are suddenly festooned with colored flyers and posters.

Including, astonishingly, some of Arthur. With a red-white-and-blue color scheme. Ariadne goes beyond disbelief and shock into something like disgust. As posters they're fine, they're effective and eye-catching and don't have any crap about promises he'll never be able to keep, but still. She's appalled in principle. And they're all over the school.

Yusuf is clearly itching to tease her about it during photography but they're doing critiques today, and Ariadne saves her energy for trying to figure out how to tell Nash that his portraiture borders on the creepy and voyeuristic without making the teacher yell at her again. After class she ducks out and takes refuge in the girls' room, where the other occupants are more concerned with mundane personal bullshit than student elections. Thank goodness.

But Ariadne is still annoyed enough about the whole thing that when she sees another one of the Arthur-posters, she snaps. When the hallway's clear, Ariadne pulls out one of her many Sharpies and scribbles on a quick moustache. With loopy curlicue ends like a vaudeville villain. It improves the whole thing, she thinks.

Over the course of the week, more of Arthur's posters get defaced; glasses and a beard, a set of devil horns and goatee, and once just scribbling out the end of his name as some sort of half-assed statement about Art. Not her best effort, she thinks, but at least it'll get the point across. And by Thursday she's not the only one doing it, and the posters of Dom Cobb and Tadashi the tiny freshman running for treasurer and the wide-eyed blonde running for secretary and other candidates are starting to sprout new decorations. She's not really sure how to think about this. Marking up Arthur's posters was - well, somewhere between a private joke and a private rebellion.

When she meets Arthur in the library after school, she almost brings it up. Would he be mad, though? She doesn't think he would but she's not sure. He always seems so calm. Placid. But if Ariadne is honest with herself, part of why she likes him (okay, yes, she _does_ like him) is because she can imagine all sorts of hidden depths. Maybe those depths include previously unknown political ambitions and this is his first step towards becoming President someday. Though Arthur seems more like the Secret Service type.

"Ariadne?" She looks up from the page with a jerk and can feel her cheeks turning hot. Arthur raises his eyebrows slightly. "Everything okay?"

"Um, yeah. Sorry. It's been a long week." They don't have the kind of relationship where they talk about what's bothering them. They're not friends.

He gives her another one of those smiles and nods. "I know the feeling. It can't be easy finding time for all your art projects around classes, right?" When she stares, he glances back down at the book in front of him, and now it looks like he's the one blushing. "That's - Mr. Miles posts things in the cases by the office. I saw your name on them. It's - I don't know about art but your stuff's really good."

Ariadne is dumbstruck. Flattered, but silent. And she can see Arthur's about to shut up and go back to the book, and it feels greatly daring when she reaches over the table and gently touches his wrist with the tips of her fingers. Her chipped purple nail polish looks even worse under the fluorescent lights. "Thanks." The smile she gives him is probably goofy as hell, but then he smiles back at her and moves his hand to flip forward a few pages and everything's back to normal.

When they're walking out of the library, Arthur stops and turns to look at her. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

Ariadne almost chokes to death on her own spit, then coughs and recovers. "Um, why?"

"Dom's throwing a party. You should come."

She snorts, then looks at him again. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." His face is friendly and open, a hint of a smile on his lips. There might be a little of that blush again, but it's hard to tell with the sun starting to set and bathing everything in pinky-gold light. "I'm on key duty, it'd be nice to have some company that's not intent on getting wasted and making out with their girlfriend. Or preying on the entire cheerleading team."

And okay, Ariadne isn't sure whether to be flattered or a little mad that she's just going to be a token sober friend when his real friends are being gross, but... he still wants her there. And he likes her art. So. That's a thing. "Maybe," she says finally, and the grin he gives her weakens what's left of her resolve.

On Friday night she stands in front of her closet long enough to be irritated at herself. It's a stupid high school party. Nobody cares what she's wearing. Nobody's even going to notice she's there. So eventually she just puts back on the baggy sweater and skirt and ripped-up tights she wore to school and brushes her hair and frowns at her reflection. Lipstick would just be capitulation, she tells herself, but touching up her eyeliner from this morning is definitely allowed.

It's not that hard to get out of the house - her parents have never really given her a curfew or laid down a lot of rules other than "don't be stupid or get arrested" - but it's raining just enough that they don't want her to ride her bike, so Yusuf picks her up in his brother's enormous van. Every time he shoots her a look, she turns up the radio, so by the time they're at Dominic Cobb's house the sound of the Pixies can be heard for an entire block away and her ears are ringing slightly. The music also gives her something to focus on besides Yusuf's madcap driving. He pulls up to the house with a wicked drifting curve that by all rights a giant van shouldn't be able to do, honking in a pattern as they come to a stop. The guy who only ever goes by Eames comes slouching out, and he's in the middle of a complicated handshake and backslapping maneuver with Yusuf by the time Ariadne extricates herself from the van.

"And who's this pert little thing, Yusuf?" Eames asks, leering over his friend's shoulder. Ariadne grimaces.

"Ariadne. Freshman. Arthur invited her," Yusuf supplies helpfully, ignoring Ariadne's glares. "Come on and help me with the supplies."

"Ah, of course, Ariadne," Eames says. "A pleasure. I've been tutored by Arthur a time or two myself." He waggles his eyebrows and makes to grab her hand, but Ariadne dodges past him and dashes up the front steps, into the house.

Not many people are here yet, so she ignores Yusuf's distant calls for help - besides, she's got puny arms, she'd be no use lugging crates of booze - and investigates. Other people's houses are always fascinating and say plenty about the people inside them, and Ariadne's always loved figuring out what makes people tick. By the time she makes it to the kitchen the boys are setting up, with Eames unloading a box full of clinking bottles and Yusuf setting up what looks like an actual bartending station on the center island. Dominic is there too, with his intimidatingly elegant girlfriend. Mal's wearing all black and red lipstick and looks about twenty-five, and when she catches sight of Ariadne and smiles it makes Ariadne feel about twelve.

"Welcome," Mal purrs in her accent, leaving Dom's side to draw Ariadne back through the hallway. "They're about to be very stupid and pretend they know all about alcohol while they wait for the man with the keg to arrive. Let's leave them to it, hmm?" And it's easy to let herself be pulled along to the foyer, up the stairs and into a spacious bathroom that smells like fancy perfume over a layer of men's deodorant. Mal touches up her lipstick unnecessarily and meets Ariadne's eyes in the mirror. "Arthur says you're a photographer?"

Ariadne blinks. "Um. I mean, I'm in a photography class?" She feels uneasy, out of place, like she's even younger, a child playing with adults who are indulgently watching her every whim.

Mal smiles, and it's warm and welcoming instead of mocking. "He said you're very good." She leans forward to rummage in the open makeup bag that sits on the counter, pulling out a lipstick and handing it to Ariadne. And it would be rude to refuse, so she slicks on the berry-pink shade and presses her lips together. It looks fine. Like lipstick. She's not suddenly older or prettier or anything, just the same old skinny girl with more makeup on.

"There," Mal says, looping her arm around Ariadne's shoulders and squeezing as if they're friends. "I must make sure the boys don't get too stupid, but Arthur will be here soon." And then she disappears, leaving Ariadne to stare at herself in the mirror and wonder what the hell she's gotten herself into. There's a blast of noise from downstairs that finally rouses her, and she comes back downstairs to see a wide armchair has been dragged to sit near the door and Arthur seated in it with a big glass bowl. He's staring. Why is he staring?

"Hey," she says, when she makes it down without tripping over her own feet. The music's been turned up, and there are significantly more people circulating - track guys, theater kids, some girls she's seen hanging around the band room. Arthur stands up and pauses, hands tightening a little on the bowl like he's afraid of dropping it.

"Hi. I didn't know you were here." He swallows.

"Yusuf brought me," she says, and there's an awkward pause where she becomes convinced that this was a terrible idea. "I'm gonna get a drink. Do you want one?"

"Just water," he tells her, and she heads off. Yusuf is now manning the kitchen island and pouring out actual cocktails with official names, while one of the relay runners is pumping the keg. The kitchen seems a lot smaller with so many people in it, but Ariadne manages to get a cup of water for Arthur and a soda for herself. Eames is apparently starting a poker game in the dining room and winks at her as she passes.

Arthur's back in the armchair and she stands beside him awkwardly as people keep coming in, tossing their keys to him with waves or shouts of greeting. Their gazes slide right over Ariadne like she isn't even there.

"Is it always like this?" she asks, leaning over to be heard over the music and voices. He shrugs, mouth twisting into a wry smile.

"Pretty much. It's not really my thing, but someone has to make sure nobody does anything too stupid."

"Aside from throwing the parties in the first place?" That makes him laugh, and she ends up perching on the broad arm of the chair so she doesn't have to keep bending over at such an uncomfortable angle to talk with him. Eventually the flow of people slows to a trickle and he asks her if she's planning to do anything fun over the summer, and that turns into a conversation about terrible family vacations, and they're just talking normally. Like they're friends, or something.

A few hours later she's had a beer, illicit and tasting like dishwater, and Arthur is very solicitous and Ariadne finds herself sliding over the arm of the chair and into the wide seat, leaning against him as they watch the party progress into debauchery. At some point she realizes Arthur's got his arm around her, and... he's playing with her hair? That can't be right. She must be drunk. But the gentle tugs continue, and she really can't be bothered to move, even though people are starting to flow back out of the house in dribs and drabs, reciting portions of the alphabet backwards and collecting their keys and moving on.

The music stops and it's suddenly so quiet that her ears are ringing, and Ariadne pushes herself upright. "What time is it?"

"Two," Arthur says, easing himself up and standing, then handing her the bowl. "Hang on a sec, okay?" And Ariadne's honestly more tired than tipsy at this point, even though she'd still be awake at this point anyway. There's a difference between painting in your room with just the company of the radio and sitting around at a noisy party where there's no chance for a respite. She's thinking about the Boschian scene she could paint of tonight's events when Arthur reappears and is shrugging on a jacket.

"Are you leaving?" she asks, feeling like her stomach is somewhere around her shoes right now.

"Yusuf's crashing here for the night, so I'll take you home. If that's okay?" He looks at her expectantly, like this isn't the best offer she's going to get all night.

But she just nods and gets up, and tries not to look completely goofily pleased when he catches her elbow as if she needs to be steadied, and he keeps hold of her arm as they walk over the lawn to his car while she explains where she lives on the other side of town. They're quiet as they roll down the empty streets, Ariadne pressing her cheek to the cool windowpane. Even though it's spring it's still chilly this late at night.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks finally, watching the streetlights go by.

"Because you needed a ride," he says slowly, as if he doesn't understand the question.

"No. All of this," she replies, gesturing vaguely to the space between them. He doesn't answer that one, and she keeps talking, to fill the empty air in the car. "You don't have _time_ to tutor anyone, you're in all those classes and you're doing all the sports and you're gonna be student body president next year, which is _stupid_ even if it wasn't a bullshit puppet show, there aren't enough hours in the day for all of it."

"You're right," he says, as they pause at a stop sign, and she can see him turning to look at her in her peripheral vision. "It's time I don't have."

"So why are you doing it?"

"I don't know," he says slowly, easing the car forward and accelerating again. "Everybody thought it was a good idea."

"Because you care so much what everybody thinks?"

"Don't you?" It's not an accusation but Ariadne can't think of a way to reply that doesn't sound like she's just being a brat, so they stay quiet until they pull up to the little house with all its windows dark and the familiar tree shading over the driveway.

"Thanks," she says, turning to him after she unbuckles her seatbelt. "For everything. It was... interesting." He huffs out a soft laugh, and if she were braver or drunker she would lean over and kiss him, but she's not. So she puts her hand over his on the shifter for a moment, like that will communicate what she means, and he turns his hand over underneath hers and holds it just for a second.

"Thanks for keeping me company," he says, voice low, and she gives him a nervous smile and bolts out of the car. He doesn't drive away till she's inside and locking the door.

The weekend passes in a blur of sleeping in, avoiding her parents' questions about the party (it was _fine_ and she didn't get into trouble and there were no fights and she did not get a ride from anyone who had been drinking but she doesn't say who) and trying to get her homework done. Yusuf sends her a few texts that all somehow evoke a grin and a nudge in the ribs, which she ignores, and she gets one that's allegedly from Mal thanking her for coming and inviting her to hang out again sometime. That one's too weird to contemplate. She doesn't hear from Arthur.

The assembly where the candidates are making their speeches is scheduled for Wednesday, and Ariadne isn't planning to go because she doesn't care and she hasn't seen Arthur all week, like he's purposely avoiding her. Except on Wednesday at lunchtime she's heading into the cafeteria to buy a bottle of juice before she goes back to hiding in the art room when she hears her name and there's Arthur, barreling right towards her. And he's wearing that pale blue button-down with a skinny tie and his hair is flopping over his forehead and she's suddenly angry, that this is who he is and this is who _she_ is and why did she think he'd bother to get in touch with her?

"What?" she asks, and it comes out harsh and flat, and Arthur skids to a stop in front of the vending machine.

"Hi. Sorry I didn't call you," he says, like he should have called, like they live in a universe where that's normal. "This week's been crazy. Are you coming to the assembly?"

"Why would I?" That makes him rock back on his heels.

"You should. Just trust me. Bring your camera if you want." He touches her shoulder for a moment, like he's brushing off a piece of fluff and takes a little too long, and then he spins and rockets off in another direction, disappearing into the crowd.

And okay, maybe student elections are all bullshit theatrics, but after a plea like that Ariadne can't resist. She comes in late and sits in one of the back rows, leaning her elbows on the back of the seat in front of her, listening to some kid she doesn't recognize make the typical promises about better cafeteria food and longer passing periods.

Then Arthur's striding up to the center of the stage with a handful of index cards, and someone is yelling something indecipherable, and he grips the edges of the lectern and looks out into the auditorium. Then he picks up the stack of cards and starts tearing them in half.

"I decline my nomination for class president," he says, "because frankly, I have more important things to do with my time than this puppet show of self-government." And Ariadne's heart is in her throat. "You all know they're never going to give us real power. Let's not pretend otherwise. Thank you." He drops the torn cards and walks away and the auditorium erupts with the noise of several hundred teenagers discussing something new and exciting.

Ariadne is pretty sure she's in love.

Yusuf tells her the next day that Principal Cobol had wanted to suspend Arthur for disturbing an assembly, but that Vice-Principal Saito had talked him out of it. And Arthur's banned from all future student government activities, which is pretty stupid considering what the point of the whole speech was, but Cobol never was anything but a giant hardass. To his eternal credit, Yusuf doesn't tease Ariadne too much about her hot tutor being made even hotter. Instead he just asks, "Are you going to tell him?"

"I'm not sure," she says, as they stand in front of the library. She doesn't know if Yusuf means her crush, or about the posters - she didn't tell anybody but she wouldn't be surprised if he'd figured it out - or anything else. But she has about fifteen minutes to decide before Arthur shows up.

"Good luck," Yusuf tells her, and gives her one of those very gentle shoulder punches that means he's feeling fond of her before he heads off to the chemistry lab. Ariadne heads to their customary table in the back of the library and stops short when she finds Arthur already there, the math book on the table but closed and his fingers drumming on the cover's edge. She doesn't think she's ever seen him do that before. But then, she's pretty sure she's never seen Arthur nervous before. Has he ever been nervous in his entire life?

"Hi," she croaks out. Her voice is barely above a whisper but his head snaps up and he looks at her like she's a stranger.

"Hey," he says. They're quiet and still and his fingers have stopped moving and she really needs to move or this is going to get even weirder than it already is. Ariadne forces herself to walk forward and take her usual chair, letting her bag thump on the floor. She'll get out her book and binder in a minute.

"So," Arthur says. Then he stops and clears his throat. "Did you - were you there?"

"It was pretty cool," she says, and he smiles and she can finally breathe again. "Although you should've, like, flipped off the entire room or broken something or at least dropped the mic to really drive home your point."

"Not really my style," he says. "But I think I made myself pretty clear."

"So when you told me you agreed with me you meant it?" When she was drunk, when he drove her home and held her hand and spent the whole night with her when he didn't have to. Because... he wanted to?

"Of course I meant it." He gives her one of those measuring looks that makes her stomach flip over. "I don't say things I don't mean."

"Then why did you run?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "It wasn't my idea in the first place."

"What?"

"Eames nominated me. He claimed he couldn't run because he wasn't born here, so I would be his proxy and Cobb and I could run things next year. I still don't know if it was one big prank or not. He's the one who came up with those stupid posters. And I think he was even defacing them, too." Ariadne blushes from the roots of her hair down to the toes of her Converse, and Arthur stares blankly at her. "Wait. That was you?"

"I was mad that you were doing something so stupid, I guess," she says, ducking her head and letting her hair fall in front of her face. "When I... expected better of you. Or something."

Arthur leans over and brushes some hair out of her face and Ariadne just freezes. "Instead of just telling me you thought it was stupid? Before you gave me devil horns and a mustache?" She hopes the look she gives him is eloquent enough: he is a junior and wonderful and adored by all and sundry, and she's just an idiotic little freshman with a superiority complex. Besides. There are entire volumes of things she can't just tell him. And his fingers are still on her cheek, and then _he_ blushes and drops his hand and looks away and Ariadne feels like the entire world has tilted on its axis.

Well.

Finishing this problem set can wait. She closes her book and stands up, and he looks up at her and starts to smile.

"Let's get out of here," she says. And when he stands up, she grabs his hand and pulls him between the bookshelves and leans up on her tiptoes, closing her eyes and hoping. Then his lips are on hers, one hand on her shoulder and the other still clasped in her hand, and Ariadne doesn't ever want this to end except they're in the library and someone's going to find them sooner or later. That doesn't stop her from grabbing his shirt with her free hand and pulling him down for another kiss. But eventually they can hear the creaking wheels of the cart as the librarian approaches to shelve the books left all over after the end of the school day, and pull apart and head back to their table. Arthur puts his math book in his backpack and waits for her to grab her bag, and as they leave the library and head outside he reaches for her hand and Ariadne laces her fingers with his and it feels like they belong that way.

He stops next to the bike rack like always, waiting for her to unchain her bike like she does every other time, but she doesn't want to let go of his hand. "Need a lift?" he asks, like always. The way he brushes his thumb over the inside of her wrist is definitely not like always.

"I'll drive," she says, giddy.

"Really?"

"Yeah, if you think you can stay on the handlebars."

Arthur looks at the bike like he's contemplating whether he'd rather ride on the handlebars or perch behind her on the rack, then lets go of her hand and carefully slides an arm around her shoulders. "Or we could put your bike in the trunk and drive to Riverside Park."

"Are you asking me on a date?" she asks, looking up at him and letting herself smile the way she always wants to around him, feeling warm all the way through when he smiles right back.

"If it means I can kiss you again, then yes," he says, and she guides his face down to hers and answers that question as quickly as she knows how.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this art](http://cunning-croft.livejournal.com/221475.html) by cunning_croft, originally for Inception Reverse Bang. High school was a long time ago, so all errors in plausibility and how student government elections work are entirely my own. Thanks to @gollumgollum for beta services and @littledust, @momebie and @alierakieron for cheerleading. <3


End file.
